The letter
by Doing my best
Summary: 'If you're reading this, then I'm already gone...' Jem spends his last hours writing letters to all those he cares about. And now it's time for the final one, the most difficult. The letter to his other half, his parabatai. To him. One-shot; just brotherly love. (A story, not an actual letter)


**A/N: It's been a while since I've written anything. This piece was created because of (thanks to?) my little sister, who gave me a topic ("the letter") and dared me to write. Clever little thing. I wrote it as brotherly feelings, but it can be interpretated otherwise if you like it that way. Anyway, here it is, I hope you'll like it. And I'm sorry, just in case. Please R&R maybe? **  
**And, once again: still not a native speaker, so please forgive me for all the mistakes.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Not even my cat (it's the other way around, I'm not fooling myself). Nothing for me from this except tears.**

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It was bad.

Ever since yesterday, Jem felt like he'd been chewed and spit out by a Du'sien demon. Not that he had the experience, but he suspected it couldn't get much worse than that. The supply of the drug that was keeping him alive ended a week ago and it seemed not even a gram of yin fen was left in the whole of London. It has been rough before – he didn't know what Will must've been doing to get him the remains, but he preferred not to ask. He'd tried to economize what he had left however he could: he had decreased the amount he'd taken, he had limited physical exertion to a maximum – but the inevitable has finally come. He'd known it would've for years, he'd even considered himself to be ready, but the truth proved to be different.

Another coughing fit shook him and he lifted his hand weakly to cover his mouth with a handkerchief. There was not really a point in that, as his bedsheets were already stained, but it left him with a faint feeling of control over the situation. That – and the letters.

Drawing each letter required a lot of effort, and not staining the paper with blood even more. Luckily, so far, he managed. He couldn't imagine how hard it would've been for his friends if they'd have to read his last words on a blood-stained paper, but he knew he'd do his best to save them that pain. It'll all be excruciating enough for them.

He heard a noise and lifted his head, simultaneously covering the latter with his forearm. It was last but one he was writing – and the addressee was reaching him now. He smiled at her gratefully when she handed him a clean handkerchief, previously wiping gently his sweated forehead.

'Has...', he started a question in a faint voice. He wasn't sure how to voice his doubt, but fortunately, she already knew.

'Not yet. But surely he'll be back soon.' She managed a strained smile.

'Tessa.' He didn't need, didn't want sugar-coating. He knew how difficult his condition has been for them, but especially for him. 'You know, how-'

'I do', she said with her usual stubbornness and a steely flash in those beautiful, grey eyes. 'But I also know how much it means to him. He'll be back. He's been gone only for a couple of hours. I'm certain he's just trying to search through all the London's dens again.'

'If he doesn't make it...', he began, waving his quill towards the last page, still empty and blank. He prayed for his parabatai to make it – but even more for himself to have enough time to transfer his feelings onto paper.

'He will', she stated firmly. But all it took was for him to look at her pleadingly, and her arms sagged. 'Of course, Jem. I'll give it to him.' Her voice wavered, but she held back the tears. He admired her for the courage and strength. He drew from them and used to help him deal somehow with the situation.

He glanced down at the unfinished letters and she noticed it immediately.

'I'll be by the fireplace if you need me', she said softly, touching his shoulder lightly, and then went back to the armchair and grabbed a book. He was grateful for this shred of privacy that allowed him to write. Still, he saw that she wasn't truly reading – for the last half an hour she didn't even turn a page, and her gaze kept jumping from his bed to the fireplace and back. He willed himself to turn his stare away and looked back to his neat (although less than usually) writing. _Forever yours, Jem__,_ he finished the letter. He'd already written the most important things in the beginning; he'd wanted to name them before his hands started shaking.

And now, despite his shaking hands, he had to write the last and the most difficult letter. He dipped his quill in the inkwell, trying not to spill its contest, and breathed deeply. _Will__,_ he started, but then doubled over in the next coughing fit. It took a while before he was able to draw a proper breath again. The new handkerchief was now red, and aa small drop of blood was staining a corner of the letter. He tried wiping it off, feeling Tessa's worried gaze on him. He knew she was ready to jump off the armchair any second if he needed her. The blood didn't come off, just smeared. He didn't have time to change the paper now. He had to hurry, and there was so much he had to write. He paused for half a second, then touched the quill to the paper again._ If you're reading this, then I'm already gone._ He sighed. He worried for his parabatai and for how he'll deal with all this. Nobody handled loss as badly as Will. _But it will be all right__,_ he added, feeling the need to comfort his friend. His brother. At that moment he felt almost relieved that he was the one dying, not the one left alone. He dipped the quill again.

He put it down, but at that moment another fit ripped through him. The line of ink went across the whole page and he didn't even have time to raise his handkerchief. A terrible pain tore his chest, agonizing, worse than ever. He doubled over, not even coughing, just trying to draw breath and feeling panic flood his mind. Not now! Just a few minutes more! He had to finish this one last letter. He had to let Will know how much he means to him, how important he is – was – in his life. He had to assure him he'll get through this, that Tessa, Henry, and Charlotte will be there for him. He had to inform he knows about his love for Tessa and he's glad that they'll have a chance to be together. He had to tell him he loves him more than a friend, than a brother. Like the other half of his soul. His parabatai.

On his back, he felt slender hands of Tessa, who had run to him and tried to help him somehow, but everything faded in the overwhelming pain. His lungs refused working and his fingers clutched his shirt over his heart, still desperately beating. The ink from a fallen inkwell was spilling on the covers.

And suddenly the pain disappeared. Jem fell back on the pillows, certain that was it, that the end came when his lungs drew a deep breath – deepest in weeks – and then another. He frowned. Was that it? No tunnel? Then he noticed Tessa's terrified face hovering above him.

'Jem? Jem! Jem, say something!', he heard her panicked voice but couldn't comprehend the words. What happened? How could he breathe all of a sudden? And feel generally good? How the hell? What kind of magic could-

Confusion turned into terror when he glanced at his bloodied shirt. He jumped off the bed with surprising ease and shoving the shocked Tessa away he ran off the room. He passed the corridor, terrified, not noticing the bewilderment and disbelief on the faces of his friends, crowded around his room, and ran into Will's chamber. The empty Will's chamber.

He paused in the doorframe for half a second, but then noticed a white rectangle of paper on the bed. His mind stopped working, focusing on the only unfamiliar thing in this so familiar room. Not even feeling his own body he made it to the bed and with numb fingers pried the envelope open. Once again, his lungs refused to work when he saw the evenly written page and pressed his hand to a bloodied shirt above his heart, feeling just emptiness.

_Jem,  
__If you're reading this, then I'm already gone. But it will be alright... _


End file.
